


reputation

by elsaclack



Series: greybone records [1]
Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: (@DAN GOOR), Alternate Universe, Canon-Compliant, Drabble Collection, F/M, Fluff, Gratuitous making out for no reason, Hurt/Comfort, Inspired by Music, One Shot Collection, Rating may change with later chapters, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2020-03-07 04:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18865477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elsaclack/pseuds/elsaclack
Summary: "no explanation, just reputation."ora series of loosely-connected one-shots inspired by the song lineup of taylor swift's 2017 album, reputationnow playing: endgame





	1. baby, let the games begin

**Author's Note:**

> so like i said in the tags, the rating very well may change on this fic in the near future once i get to Certain Songs on this album (if you're familiar with it i know u know exactly which song i'm talking about)
> 
> you don't have to be familiar with all the songs on the album to understand each one-shot - they more convey the general vibe of each song rather than the specific story. some will be canon-compliant, some will be canon-divergent, and some will just be straight up aus. i'll denote which is which in the summary of each chapter!!
> 
> this one is a canon-compliant missing moment in early early season 3, set the night jake and amy decide to screw light and breezy!

In the interest of staying sane and not completely blowing it in an embarrassing amount of time, Jake maintains a steady mantra in his mind as Amy moves to straddle him on his couch. It isn’t the first time she’s straddled him on his couch - that was last night - but it _is_ the first time she’s straddled him on his couch while stone-cold sober. And the warm weight of her, the deliciously slow arch of her spine, the soft and insistent press of her lips and the decidedly less soft tug of her fingers raking through his hair, feels all the more intense now that his mind isn’t clouded with Kamikaze shots.

Of course, it _is_ cloudy with other things - adrenaline, lust, affection, pure slack-jawed awe - but she doesn’t need to know that.

And as his hands grapple along her hips before finding purchase on the taper of her waist while her lips stray ever-closer to his throat, he reminds himself in a firm, stern voice inside his mind, _we have time_.

Time to take their time. Time to explore. Time to tease and talk and giggle and just _be_ . Gone is the frenetic, borderline-manic energy from the night before that left her dress torn along the seam near the zipper and his shirt divested of three buttons; stoked to a near-roaring flame inside his gut is the overwhelming desire to just _worship_ her.

(And, if he’s being honest, to be worshiped. He’s still not positive that this isn’t some torturous dream his subconscious made up that he’ll jolt awake from at any moment, but he’s beyond caring about that now.)

_We have time. We have time. We have time._

No captains barging in and dying on the spot at the sight of them. No sergeants yelling about professionalism in the workplace. No Charles vacillating between squealing like a stuck pig and trying to take credit for their relationship. No fear of the alcohol wearing off and her sense returning to her.

No fear of her leaving.

For once in his long, miserable life, time is on his side.

Above him, Amy gently suckles at his neck - not hard enough to mark him, but enough that he can’t help but squirm a little bit - and lets out a sigh, big and gusty, billowing over his neck and shoulder. It’s this sound that has him gripping her waist a little harder, because he’d felt exactly how bone-deep that sigh was, exactly how much tension had drained from the muscles in her back, how easily she’d settled over him.

Like she belongs here.

It’s a little absurd to be thinking things like that about her, and he knows that, because they’ve only been a _them_ in the real true romantic sense of the word for a matter of _hours_ now. But the cosmic weight of the word is not lost on him; the primal animal that had furiously roared to life so many months ago at the sight of her lips painted pink smiling brightly at someone who _wasn’t_ him purrs in contentment as her lips find his again.

It’s early, and he knows that, but there is an undeniable sense of _belonging_ simmering just below the surface of his skin. It ripples out in waves in the wake of her wandering fingers grazing down his arms and up his chest and back again.

The dance is new, but his partner is as familiar as the moonlight spilling through the windows over his bed.

Amy sighs again, smaller this time, hands traversing the rumpled plane of his chest to gently frame his face, and after two quick swipes of her thumbs over his cheekbones she pulls back for the first time in ten minutes. Jake blinks up at her in a daze, body still humming with electricity, and she smiles with kiss-bruised lips. “I like you,” she murmurs, voice barely cresting above a whisper.

She ruffles his hair right near his hairline and he feels heat pooling in his cheeks - like an overeager kindergartener being complimented by his favorite teacher. “I like you, too,” he breathes, letting his head tilt to the right, following her hand as she lets it fall back to his chest to brace herself. “I’m so glad you came.”

“Title of your sex tape,” she says quickly, and he groans, leaning forward to bury his face in the crook of her neck, grinning at the feeling of her entire body shaking with laughter in his arms.

“I mean it,” he says once he’s back leaning against the couch and she’s looking down at him with an expression softened by affection. “I was gonna go to your place and do the same thing if you hadn’t shown up. I’m _so_ happy, Ames. Seriously.”

It’s clear that she’s touched by the way her smile goes a little shy, a little awed. She reaches up to touch the side of his face - no stroking or caressing, just gently touching - and he leans into her, turning his head quickly to kiss the inside of her wrist. “I’m happy, too, Jake.” she murmurs as her hand drops back to his chest again. “Really. This - it’s something I’ve been, uh, wanting. For a - a long time, now. A _really_ long time.”

He shakes his head slowly, absently dragging his hands up and down her sides. “Me, too,” he admits, trying and failing to bite back his broad grin. She huffs out a laugh through her nose and ducks her head a little bit, but her eyes never leave his. And a voice he scarcely recognizes says _I’m keeping her_ in his mind. _Later_ , he chastises himself. _We have time_.  “I think it’s high time for us to _do_ something about it.” he says instead.

He lifts both eyebrows suggestively and she laughs - more earnest now, more exasperated - and the cadence is so familiar that a dozen fireflies burst to life inside his chest. “ _Do_ you, now?” she asks as she drums her fingers along his chest. “And what _exactly_ are you planning on doing?”

“Oh, if I told you, you wouldn’t be able to handle it,” he says coolly, biting the inside of his cheek at the familiar spark of competitiveness in her eyes.

“I can handle it,” she retorts smoothly. “You’re the one I’m worried about.”

“Why’s that, Santiago?”

She leans in close, her lips a hair’s breadth away from his ear, and he finds himself suddenly scrambling for a tighter grip around her. Her breath washes over the shell of his ear and seconds later he feels the faintest edge of her teeth nipping at his earlobe, and it takes every ounce of self control he possesses to choke down the groan that threatens to bubble up his throat. “Because,” she breathes, “you’re not ready for it.”

He clenches his jaw, screws his eyes shut, forces himself to swallow.

And after a moment he feels her leaning away.

She’s smirking down at him when he finally manages to open his eyes again. “Well? Are you?”

He blinks, mentally scrambling, trying to remember what exactly it was that she whispered in his ear not three seconds ago and coming up absolutely empty. “Am I what?” he asks, surprised to find his voice as gravelly as it is.

Her smirk only grows wider. “Are you ready for it?”

The world around him fades to little more than a muted blur; only the soft folds of her blouse and the warmth of her body and her hands pressing firmly into his chest, only she is real. “Yes,” the word sticks in his throat and drips from his teeth. “Yes, god, yes.”

Her smirk quickly evolves into a genuine smile. “Good.” she whispers, before diving back in again.


	2. your handprint's on my soul

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part two of the reputation series!!! thank you guys so much for all of your kindness and support on the first part i’m fhasldfkj you just!! have no idea how much i appreciate it

With Charles’ words still ringing in his ears (and the bruises from Charles’ fists still throbbing smartly along his arms and shoulders) Jake can hardly hear his own fist pounding against Amy’s door. He’s breathing hard, but is only aware of it tangentially - like watching someone else pant, someone else grab at the stitch in their side, someone else struggle for oxygen after sprinting full-speed up six flights of stairs and twenty-seven blocks before that.

Who doesn’t put an elevator in a building with more than two floors?

Amy’s slow to answer her door - at least, it feels like she’s slow, what with all of this adrenaline coursing through his veins - but he’s still struggling to catch his breath by the time her deadbolt slides out of place and her face appears in the narrow crack between her door and her doorframe. “Jake?”

He lifts a hand in greeting, to find his entire arm shaking. “Hey,” he wheezes.

Her incredulity is evident as she pushes her door open a little wider to step out into the hallway outside of her apartment. “Oh, my god, are you okay? What’s wrong with you?”

She’s alarmed, he can see it in the widening circumference of her eyes. “I just - hang - hang on -” he holds his finger up as he doubles over, bracing his other hand against his knee. His lungs are positively  _burning_ and there are dark spots along the edges of his vision but he can still make out the shape of Amy’s shoes; he focuses on them, on the sensible rubber soles and the thick heels and the places where the leather has worn and nicked from all of the running and kicking and diving she’s done while wearing them over the years. It’s an odd feeling, he thinks, that he recognizes half the scars from cases they’ve worked together.

“Jake,” her voice sounds far away, and suddenly he’s aware of the fact that his ears are ringing. He straightens up slowly, hands on his hips, and her face is positively ablaze with concern. It makes him wonder how many times she’s called his name in the last few minutes.

“I’m fine,” he gasps, smoothing his hand down his chest, fingers compulsively closing over the empty spot where his badge usually hangs. “I’m good, I just - stairs.”

“Did you run all the way here from your apartment or something? You look like you just outran horror movie murderer.”

“I didn’t - outrun a murderer. This time.” he tacks the last bit on compulsively, and through the concern he’s delighted to catch the split-second of familiar exasperation cracking through the furthest recesses of her gaze.  _Good start_. “But - but I  _did_ run all the way here from my apartment.”

Her face contorts in bewilderment. “Oh my god,  _why_? Do you need water?”

“Ew, no. I wouldn’t turn down a glass of OS, though.”

Her expression has not faltered. “OS?” she repeats.

“Orange soda.”

Her mouth drops open slightly, and she stares for a beat. “I-I don’t - I don’t have any orange soda, Jake.”

He shrugs and nods, briefly dropping his gaze down to his feet. “It’s fine, I don’t need any. But I do - I just - I need to talk to you.”

Slowly, she leans back, until her shoulders make contact with the edge of the doorframe. Her brows are furrowed and her jaw is clenched, and he tries not to wince when she loosely crosses her arms over her chest. “Okay,” she murmurs, eyes now firmly fixated on the zipper of his jacket where it sits just below his chest.

“I don’t like the way we left things,” he says, acutely aware of the sweat pooling on his upper lip and dripping down the small of his back. “It felt - I just, I didn’t like it. I - I think I still have more to say, and - and I think you do, too.”

Briefly, her eyes dart up to his face, but they’re back to his zipper before he has a chance to hold her gaze. “Okay,” she repeats, quieter than before.

He huffs, briefly presses his fingertips to his chest over his heart, and then drops both hands to hang at his sides. “I know that things got really complicated and weird today, and I’m genuinely sorry that I tried to play it off. Joking around has always been, like, my go-to when it comes to coping with stuff, and I know that can sometimes make things worse. I’m sorry. I’m working on it.” he pauses and swipes the back of his hand across his mouth, and her eyes follow the movement. “I know that you’ve been put in, like, a really awkward and uncomfortable position with Terry and the captain and everything - and again, I never meant to, like, play that off or make a joke out of it at your expense, I’m so sorry - but, Ames, I’m not - I’m not ready to call it. This thing we’ve got, it’s  _good_. I don’t wanna lose it.”

She peers up at him through her lashes, and briefly, her fingertips go white against her own arms. “This  _thing_ is a day old, Jake,” she murmurs softly. “And it - it  _was_ good, last night and this morning, but - it’s been a  _day_. There’s no way for -”

“Stop,” he interrupts, surprising even himself by how sharp the word is. She pauses, eyes widening a degree. “Don’t do that to us. You know it’s been way longer than just a day.”

A muscle in her jaw twitches as she visibly swallows.

“I know things have been rough for the last few hours, and that they probably won’t get much easier with another new captain coming in and Holt being - not here, but - but this has been  _years_ in the making, Amy. I’m not gonna just roll over and give up because of one little hiccup.”

“But it’s  _not_ just one little hiccup, Jake, we are  _literally_ at fault for a man’s  _death_. Our  _captain’s_ death. That’s so much more than a hiccup, that’s an entire  _earthquake_.”

He clenches his jaw, studying her face. “Is that really the root of the problem?”

She hesitates.

“Tell me. Please. If this isn’t gonna happen, I wanna know the real reason why.”

She drops her head, arms unfolding, fingertips digging harshly into her temples. “I just - I can’t - I can’t have this reputation that I’m starting to develop if I’m gonna move up the ranks the way I want to.”

“Reputation?” he repeats. “What reputation?”

“I can’t be the officer to dates other officers! No one will ever take me seriously!”

“Dates other - what are you  _talking_ about, Amy? Who else have you - I mean - how many other officers have you dated?”

“Just Teddy, but -”

“Okay, the only reputation you have in the NYPD is being one of the top detectives in the state. Dating another cop isn’t gonna ruin that or eclipse that or whatever. You had a genuine connection with Teddy, and then it fizzled out naturally. The same thing applies to you and me.”

“But it’s  _not_ the same, is it? Since you and I work in the same precinct. I can’t - I can’t, just, fizzle out naturally and still be around you. I can’t risk losing you the way I lost Teddy. I don’t even  _care_ about Teddy anymore, what if - you’re the best partner I’ve ever had - and I can’t, I  _can’t_ lose you, Jake, you’re my  _best_ friend and if we just fizzle out I don’t know  _what_ I’d do -”

“Hey,” he reaches out to grip her upper arms and she steps into his embrace immediately, though she’s not quite fast enough to hide the tears brimming in her eyes from him. Her arms wind tightly around his middle and he squeezes her a little harder, briefly pressing his hand against the side of her head before soothing it down her back. “You’re not gonna lose me, Ames,” he murmurs. “I’m sorry, that was bad wording, I just - you dated Teddy because you had a connection with him, not because you were trying to use him to get a promotion. That’s all I was trying to point out, that you’re not using me to get a promotion. I didn’t mean to - you’re not gonna lose me. I promise.”

“What happens if we screw light and breezy and then things don’t work out?”

He clenches his jaw, ignoring the irritating echoes of  _forever_ and  _endgame_ bouncing around his skull. “We support each other, no matter what. We stay best friends. We make fun of Charles when he’s not looking. I need to - hang on.” He pushes her backwards gently, until her bloodshot eyes find his. “This is your best friend speaking, not the guy who’s here trying to - you know,” she cracks a watery smile as he rolls his eyes. “I  _love_  you, Amy. You  _know_ I love you. I’m never gonna purposely try to hurt your career, no matter  _what_ happens between us in the future. I promise.”

She nods, her gaze darting over his face. “I believe you,” she whispers after a moment, “and I’m - I’m sorry. For everything.”

“You don’t have to apologize to me,” he says, letting her take both of his hands in hers, gently squeezing her fingers. “Not for stuff like this. I get it.”

She smiles, inhales through her nose, and drops her gaze down to their hands. “And you were right, earlier,” she says softly.

He waits, but she doesn’t elaborate. “About...what?”

“This. Us. It’s - it’s definitely been much longer than just a day. And...it is good.  _Really_ good. Captains dying aside.”

She peers up at him again, mirroring the smile he’s failing to tamp down. “So...screw light and breezy?”

“ _Screw_ light and breezy.”


End file.
